Matthew (in middle school)
The sterile white walls of the hospital room felt like they were closing in on Matthew. Two days. It had only been two days since he'd dropped that bombshell on Sarah, the woman who'd been like a second mother to him. A week since the carefully constructed facade of his life had crumbled to dust, revealing the ugly truth beneath. And now, here they were, his mother a crumpled mess on the bed, David pacing like a caged tiger, the air thick with a cocktail of emotions that threatened to suffocate them all.
David, for all his bluster, looked like a man defeated. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, his usually crisp suit rumpled as if he'd slept in it. His voice, when he spoke to Matthew's mother, was clipped and devoid of warmth, a stark contrast to the playful banter Matthew had witnessed before. "It's over, Elaine," he said, the weight of his finality settling on the room like a shroud. "For the sake of my family, for Sarah, for Molly... this needs to end."
Elaine, the woman who'd always held her head high, who'd prided herself on her elegance and control, now resembled a shipwreck. Her mascara had run, smudging dark streaks down her pale cheeks. Her sobs were raw and desperate, each one a shard of guilt piercing Matthew's heart. This woman, the one who'd tucked him in at night, who'd baked his favourite cookies, who'd championed him through life's rough patches, was now a stranger, consumed by her own selfish desires.
A wave of disgust washed over him, so sudden and unexpected it left him reeling. He had known, of course, on some level, about his mother's capacity for selfishness. But to see it manifested so blatantly, to witness the wreckage she'd caused in the lives of Sarah, David, and himself, filled him with a cold, hard fury.
David continued, his voice laced with a steely resolve. "I'm moving my family. Far away. A clean slate, Sarah needs that. And so do I." He turned to Matthew, his gaze fleeting but intense. "There can be no contact. Not from you, not from your mother. And most importantly, Molly can never know. Ever."
The finality in his voice left no room for argument. Matthew, strangely calm amidst the storm, simply nodded. A weight lifted from his chest, a sense of vindication. He had done the right thing, and exposed the truth, no matter how messy the fallout.
David left then, the slam of the door echoing through the sterile silence. Matthew turned to his mother, his heart a tangled mess of emotions. He saw the raw pain etched on her face, the tremor in her hands, and a sliver of pity stirred within him. But it was quickly drowned out by the anger, the betrayal.
He sat on the edge of the bed, a silent observer of her grief. He didn't offer comfort, not this time. This was her mess to clean, her consequences to face. Finally, when her sobs subsided into hiccups, she turned to him, her eyes red-rimmed and pleading.
"Matthew," she croaked, her voice thick with emotion. "Don't let him do this. We can fix this."
The words grated on him. Fix this? What about fixing the damage she'd done? The hurt she'd inflicted on Sarah, a woman who'd only ever treated her with kindness? The potential destruction she'd brought to David's family? The emotional damage that did to Dad?
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. How could he explain to her the magnitude of her actions, the fallout that rippled outwards, affecting everyone in its path?
Seeing his silence, her voice rose, laced with desperation. "He can't just uproot his life! He loves me, Matthew, I know he does!"
He scoffed, a harsh sound that startled even him. "Love? He barely knows you, Mom. You were a welcome distraction in his time of grief, a fleeting solace. That's not love."
She flinched at his words, his harshness finally breaking through the fog of her denial. But even then, she persisted.
"He'll change his mind," she insisted, her voice a thin wisp. "We can make it work. We just need to talk to him, make him see reason."
Matthew felt a surge of anger rise within him. He wouldn't play her enabler anymore. He wouldn't let her manipulate him into siding with her in this mess.
"There's no reason to see," he said, his voice firm. "David's made his choice. He's protecting his family. And frankly, so am I."
Her eyes widened in shock. "Protecting your family? You..."
"...You have no family to protect," she spat, the venom in her voice startling him. It was a low blow, a jab at the gaping hole left by his father's death. But in that moment, it also ignited a spark of defiance within him.
"Maybe not in the traditional sense," he countered, his voice steady. "But Sarah is like family to me. And I'm doing this for the sake of Dad too. They've been there for me in ways you never were."
The accusation hung heavy in the air. Elaine's face crumpled, a mixture of shame and anger contorting her features. She opened her mouth to retort, but the words died on her lips. There was no denying the truth in his words.
Matthew stood up, the sudden movement jolting him back to reality. He couldn't stay here any longer, not in this room filled with the ghosts of their fractured relationship. "I'll get you some water," he finally said, his voice devoid of warmth.
He walked out, the sterile white hallway a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. A week ago, he'd called Sarah, his conscience gnawing at him. Now, a sense of heavy responsibility settled on his shoulders. He had exposed the truth, but the consequences were far-reaching, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.
He found a vending machine, the rhythmic clinking of coins offering a strange comfort. As he poured the water into a plastic cup, a thought struck him. What about Sarah? How was she taking all of this? The image of her kind face, etched with pain, filled his mind. He knew, with a sickening certainty, that she wouldn't be taking it well.
Hesitantly, he pulled out his phone. His finger hovered over Sarah's contact name, the familiar digits now a source of apprehension. Should he call her? What could he possibly say? He didn't want to pry, but the urge to know she was okay gnawed at him.
He sighed, tucking his phone back into his pocket. This wasn't his place anymore. He had played his part, however messy. The rest was for Sarah and David to deal with.
He returned to his mother's room, the water cup clutched tightly in his hand. Elaine was sitting up now, a pale shadow of her former self. She looked up at him, her gaze filled with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability.
"So, what now?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Matthew didn't have the answer. All he knew was that their world, the one they'd built on unspoken secrets and misplaced desires, had irrevocably shattered. He placed the cup on the bedside table, the cold plastic a stark contrast to the warmth he wished he could offer.
"I don't know," he said, his voice honest. "But right now, you need to rest."
He lingered for a moment longer, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Then, with a final look at the woman who had once been his pillar of strength, he turned and walked away.
The days that followed were a blur. Matthew didn't see his mother again, their unspoken agreement a suffocating silence between them. He immersed himself in his studies, the familiar comfort of books offering a temporary escape from the turmoil of his life. But underneath the surface, a storm raged.
He kept tabs on Sarah and David, albeit discreetly. A news report popped up on his phone one evening, a small-town newspaper announcing the sale of their house. A pang of guilt twisted in his gut. This was all his fault, a ripple effect triggered by his decision to speak up.
He couldn't stop himself from going to their house the next day. It looked empty, a vacant shell devoid of the warmth that had once emanated from within. He saw a moving truck parked across the street, and men in blue uniforms carrying boxes out of the house.
A lump formed in his throat. He was watching the dismantling of a family, the fallout of his actions playing out before his eyes. He knew he shouldn't stay, that witnessing their departure would only amplify his guilt. But his feet remained rooted to the spot, a morbid fascination pulling him in.
Then, he saw her. Sarah. Standing on the porch, a cardboard box clutched to her chest, her face obscured by a mop of dark hair. Even from a distance, he could see the slump in her shoulders, the way she held herself, a physical manifestation of her grief.
He watched as a young girl, presumably Molly, ran out of the house, tears streaming down her face. Sarah knelt down, gathering her daughter in a tight embrace. The image of their silent goodbye etched itself onto his memory, a poignant reminder of the family he'd helped shatter.
A sob escaped his lips, a raw sound that startled himself. He turned away, unable to bear witness any longer. The weight of his actions pressed down on him, a suffocating burden he couldn't escape.
He drove back to his apartment, the image of Sarah and Molly replaying on a loop in his mind. Sleep evaded him that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw their tear-stained faces, heard the echo of the moving truck, and felt the crushing guilt gnawing at his insides.
Days bled into weeks, the silence from Sarah deafening. He understood. There were no words to erase the pain he'd caused, no apologies that could mend the fractured trust. He had done what he believed was right, but the consequences felt like a personal betrayal.